


Conversation

by ziegler



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, M/M, McHanzo - Freeform, Pharah and McCree are best buds, Pharmercy, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-26
Updated: 2016-11-26
Packaged: 2018-09-02 06:03:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8653606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ziegler/pseuds/ziegler
Summary: Pharah is in love with Mercy. McCree is in love with Hanzo. Both are struggling to come to terms with love, and both find the comfort and encouragement they need to admit it in each other.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! So I've always loved the idea of Pharah and McCree being sibling-esque as I get the impression McCree looked up to Ana a lot. I broke this story up into two sections as it's one of my longer ones to make it easier for people to read. I hope you enjoy it.
> 
> feel free to follow me on mercyisgay @ tumblr! (ﾉ´ヮ´)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

Admitting your feelings is always something comprised of three key things.

It is often unexpected, often overwhelming, and certainly, more often than not, somewhat terrifying.

The realization of love and all accompanying desires alike can hit you from anywhere in the world, no matter where you are, and no matter your circumstance. Whether that circumstance is lying awake in bed at night, staring up at a familiar ceiling, or standing in line to buy groceries at the store, or even taking an obnoxious niece to an overpriced toy shop in the middle of summer. It doesn’t matter. Feelings are fickle things, and this much, Fareeha Amari knew.

During her downtime, the thoughts would rise back up to haunt her. After all, she had not allowed herself to think in the middle of dangerous zones, not allowed herself to feel, or to even allow herself to dwell on the idea of loss. Almost losing Ana was bad enough, let alone the potential result of losing someone else she cared about. What better way to deal with something than to pretend it doesn’t exist?

But that was not applicable any more.

Ana Amari had been hospitalized. The idea of loss was almost not just an idea, but a reality all over again. She had been hit with several stray bullets down on King’s Row during an escorting mission, and Pharah remembered how she had almost screamed upon actually seeing it. Mercy had tried her best to heal the wounds, frantic hands shaking around the caduceus, but the bones in Ana’s arm were shattered; she would need surgery, and much bedrest, at that.

Ana turned out to be fine after the trauma - but she was hospitalized.

For how long, Pharah didn’t know.

But from potential tragedy comes motivation; and Pharah knew that the time to get herself to admit feelings she had been denying was now. Who knew how short life would be, after all?

Pharah’s first realisation of her love had happened on a routine morning run. This was the time when Pharah often thought of Mercy, even moreso than usual.

Wherever they were stationed in Overwatch, Pharah would go running. Like all soldiers, she valued being the pinnacle of fitness. She would briskly jog in the morning, no matter the harshest of rain or the hardest of suns, the time of year, or even how late she woke up; which was often no later than seven; and she would just run. Her thigh muscles burned with the tension of exercise, and her lungs felt the fire of physical activity, and with a new addition of a suffocating feeling, but this time, not from the sensation of the freezing cold morning air slipping down her throat.

The wind was crisp. The leaves crunched beneath Pharah’s feet; her baggy navy sweater clinging to her a little from the sweat, and she gasped for breath, finishing her jog underneath the branches of a willow tree, and placing her hands on her thighs as she did so. Her golden braids felt icy against her cheeks from the wintry winds, and she felt a swirling sensation in the back of her mind; a dizziness of a newfound experience, the haze of something she did not want to admit.

_Oh God_ , she thought. _I’ve really done it now_. _I’ve fallen for someone in the middle of a warzone._

“Fuck.”

She tilted her head back, closing her eyes to the rising, low winter sun, with her eyelids still flickering through reflex against the harsh light of day. The bitterness of the wind was therapeutic against her hot skin, soothing her, almost feeling as though it was like pouring gentle water over her emotionally. Pharah let out a contemplative sigh, before placing her water bottle to her lips. The only thing on her mind was Angela Ziegler.

Pharah thinks back on the day that she realized she had fallen in love.

Unsurprisingly, she sees Angela on that particular day. A woman who gave her such a feeling of mutual affection and closeness, and above all else, pride. Pharah felt _proud_ to be next to her, to be able to call her the partner she held in such high esteem. Romantic partner? Not just yet. But Pharah was ever hopeful.

They eat together. They dine, always, alone, on the top of the ship in Anubis, out of the way of prying eyes, with a makeshift, dusty canvas tent, propped up by brittle branches, in a futile attempt to keep the desert heat off of Mercy’s alabaster skin. Pharah always laughs when Mercy makes a comment about how hot she is, and Mercy always playfully pokes her arm in jest.

“I’m not used to being a goddess of the sun like you, you know!” she would reply with a chuckle, and Pharah would grin brightly in reply at the compliment. “You could swim in this sunshine with how much you bathe in it, Fareeha.”

“Well, what can I say?”

Part of Pharah wants to be smooth in those moments Mercy complained about being hot, but she knew Mercy would just be bashful, and that would make her urge to kiss her soft, full lips even moreso than it already was.

Mercy makes Pharah’s supplies every day, these days. This usually consists of just food, but Mercy is more than happy to oblige. She knows, as does Pharah, that they are assigned to each _other_ , and not to missions. Where Pharah goes, Mercy goes. Where Mercy goes, Pharah goes. Mercy is the medic, but Angela is the one both Pharah and Fareeha are in love with.

Mercy makes her own supplies, first – two thermos’ full of black coffee, some kind of Greek yoghurt that she always picks up from Ilios, and Swiss comfort foods from her childhood that she has committed to memory. Pharah often comments about how Mercy doesn’t have to make her anything, that she can just as easily grab something from the canteen, but Mercy refuses to listen.

“I’ve told you before, right? I like to cook. It helps me relax…which we could always do with more of, given our situations on a daily basis.”

Pharah grimaces sheepishly, and rubs the back of her neck. Her golden braids glint underneath the midday sun of Egypt, and Mercy shakes her head in protest.

“I know, but…I feel a little guilty. Doesn’t it add on extra work in the end?”

“Well, don’t feel guilty. Okay?” she warmly says, a bright and brilliant smile from her lips. “I always love to patch you up…in my own way. I don’t view it as a chore when it’s something for you.”

She chuckles shyly after that remark, but Pharah remembers it as much more than just a throwaway comment, as it’s one of the first time heat rises to her face in a way that isn’t from the desert heat.

It was a slow burn with Mercy, in a sense. Pharah always felt _something_ for her, something deep inside the pit of her stomach that pinged when she saw her. When Pharah would be alone at night, she would often find herself fantasizing about kissing Mercy, revelling in the idea of holding her close in bed, and even having her lips somewhere _other_ than Mercy’s lips, as long as they were on her body. The late night fantasies and the daytime rendezvous were becoming too much without actual physicality, and during the moments where she realized this, Pharah would put her hands to her face, desperately trying to shake off the thoughts for all the reasons that terrified her.

Whilst she was confident in herself that they probably felt the same, what then? What if Mercy died? What if Pharah herself got injured, and Mercy ran to her aid, getting hurt in the process? What if, what _if_? But what if Mercy truly did love her, too?

What if Mercy felt the same, and lay awake at night, wishing Pharah was there next to her?

_What if_ was always the big question on Pharah’s lips, and she wished that Mercy would slip her tongue against hers to stop it.

Mercy and Pharah have their first alone moment in years in the recruitment room. They’ve met again, for the first time in neither knows how long.

Mercy stops, almost dumbfounded by how much Fareeha has grown, from the young girl she saw in passing at Ana’s side almost twenty years ago, to the tall, strong, handsome, and beautifully impressive woman she is today. Pharah, too, is dumbstruck, at the sight of Mercy before her; golden, stunning, and beaming with the most perfect smile she had ever seen. She watches Mercy open her arms, and walks, almost runs, into them, as fast as she can; holding her strongly, and feeling the emotions wash over them both. Mercy glimmered.

A shining beacon of pacifist morality, an angel that Pharah never knew she was missing. Mercy’s body is warm, the soft cotton of her shirt brushing against Pharah’s chin, and she smells like cinnamon and vanilla, so much so that Pharah can’t help but breathe her in. They lock into a long, timeless embrace. The world melts around them.

After that, in the throes of battle, they found that they worked like a well-oiled machine, perfectly complimenting each other’s strong points. Pharah protects Mercy with ease, and Mercy repairs any damage done. The golden glow of the caduceus beam would wrap itself around Pharah’s skin, gently kissing at the surface with warmth, and allowing Pharah’s skin to regenerate itself over wounds, numbing away at the pain. Pharah had become used to the metallic twang of blood staining her tongue, from blasts that were too hard for her helmet to fully fend off; but with a medic at her side, she felt invincible.

Sometimes, Pharah would fly up high, deliberately pulling Mercy out of a bad situation, and there would be…moments, fractions of time that were so small, so miniscule, Pharah wasn’t even sure how she remembered them, but _in_ those moments, she felt as though her and Mercy were never able to leave them.

The slow burn with Mercy was only just that in the years they had been apart.

They had been back together for a few months, and Pharah knew she had fallen head over heels in love with her.

She sighed heavily.

Pharah remained sat underneath the wispy, gentle branches of the willow tree, gazing thoughtfully across the rare sight of fields in Anubis. The blades of green grass were shimmering with morning dew, and the trees either side of the pathways were blowing gently in the cool morning breeze. Pharah knew there was only one person she felt comfortable talking to about her feelings, and that was Ana - but she knew that on top of her hospitalization, being in love with Mercy may have come as somewhat of a shock to her mother, given that she knew her a long time ago in passing.

-

It was the same for Jesse McCree, but with a very different history.

McCree was a southern gentleman. He was not the kind of man to admit it, or to even declare himself as such a thing; but that was exactly what he was. He pulled out chairs for the person he was courting, he escorted them around, bought them dinner…he looked after them, doted on them...he was a caring man, despite his colourful history within the Blackwatch gang, and other, non-specific things that he had spiralled into after Overwatch’s disbandment. He cared, he truly did, for the ones he loved. Hell, to him, he felt as though he cared more than anybody.

He was no stranger to the criminal life, or a criminal history, at that. He was used to the looks of scorn from people that knew of his past, and hell, he didn’t blame them. He was used to the judgements of others, and he was used to his regrets keeping him up at night. His nightmares haunted him, and he often wondered if he had done the right thing by turning vigilante in the first place. Perhaps he could have prevented what had happened with the infighting of Blackwatch.

But it was always _perhaps_. Always _maybe_ , always _sometimes_. Never certain.

Nothing in McCree’s life had been a certainty, until now.

Like Pharah, McCree remembers perfectly well the first moment he had with Hanzo alone.

He found himself listless in Hanamura the first time it happened. He was stationed there, with other members in the newly-reformed Overwatch that he had previously had yet to meet; people such as Hana Song, Satya Vaswani, and other comrades that he would call companions. The gentle sunlight of the blue sky hovered behind full, white clouds, and McCree, after dispatching several Talon agents, decided to relax for a moment while he could.

He sparks up a cigar as he leans back against the wall of a bridge above him, just near an alleyway outside of the temple’s bell.

That is the first time he sees him.

Broody, beautiful, and McCree got the impression immediately that this man’s expression of anguish was always held. He stands across from McCree, noticing the cowboy before him too, and looks him up and down with an expression Jesse just can’t work out.

The mysterious, beautiful man’s bow is placed tightly over his broad chest, the string of it slightly pressing against his skin gently, and McCree can’t help but notice, as he takes a drag of his cigar, how striking his tattoo is. Coiling up his arm, as though it were a natural birthmark, and not a choice of art; heralding deep hues of navy blue, gold and jet black, sliding together to make the most exquisite of patterns that McCree had ever seen.

The man notices McCree looking, and looks as though he wants to say something, but somehow cannot muster the energy to talk. McCree looks at him, too, but with piqued, charmed curiosity, and the taste of tobacco lingering against his tongue. He exhales, and smiles his most charming smile across at the man, before taking off his hat.

“Nice ink,” he remarks with a smirk, nodding towards the man’s arm, and the man looks down as though he hasn’t seen his tattoo before. It isn’t long before he is folding his arms again, almost indignant, and looking away from McCree.

“Thank you.” He replies bluntly, and not at all sounding grateful for the compliment. McCree laughs to himself, and thinks back at the men he’s dealt with before like this. He takes another drag of his cigar, and slips his hands into his pockets.

“You from ‘round these parts?” he asks, and then laughs internally at the cliché of saying such a thing. The man looks at him, almost dumbfounded that he was so forward, before chuckling a little at McCree’s unintentional charm. McCree felt something be struck inside of him at that moment emotionally, and almost felt himself break into a little adrenaline rush.

“I used to live here.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes.”

The conversation is stunted, but somehow, McCree finds enjoyment in it.

He smiles against his cigar, and the man introduces himself only after McCree does. Hanzo Shimada.

McCree recognizes the name. Not Hanzo necessarily, but he recognizes the Shimada brand; ex-criminals, formerly Yakuza, and with two sons to their name. McCree figured that this man was one of them, and slipped his hands into his pockets idly as they talked. The familiarity of the similar backgrounds in crime is oddly reassuring. McCree finds comfort in the fact that maybe, just maybe, they could help each other overcome their demons…if they could get a little closer.

They meet again after that.

And again. And _again_. They meet on each mission, more frequently, with more conversation flows, and feeling the emotion of more chemistry building. McCree recognizes these feelings almost instantly, as, unlike Pharah, he – admittedly _foolishly_ , he thinks - _does_ allow himself to think in the heat of battle, and, _like_ Pharah, he allows himself to think and feel too much. Pharah does what she must to survive, recognizing that her personal life should be kept to one side for the duration of the fight, for the sake of herself, for the sake of those she loves, whilst McCree is always consumed with regrets from his past.

The truth was inevitable. The two children of Ana Amari, biological or otherwise, are in love. And both of them are finding themselves in a lustre to tell her, to tell the woman that they viewed as their guardian for so long about how they found love, about how the person they hold as their most precious is just that…but they struggle to find the words.

McCree and Hanzo have _their_ first alone moment together since their first conversation, and that is the moment McCree realizes he is in love.

Hanzo has taken the time to actually bring him a gift. It was something that McCree expressed interest in passing, back in Hanamura, when he noticed a small arrow head that protruded gently from the top of the shrine. Hanzo had remarked to McCree and Lucio how that was his as a boy, and he had been practicing his targets at the time, shooting at makeshift paper targets he had made above the shrine. But naturally, as all children find, what they expect is oft not what they get, and Hanzo was scolded for getting an arrowhead stuck in the beam holding up the shrine.

McCree had remarked how pretty the silver was, just one time, he was sure, and Hanzo not only kept that memory in his heart, but had worked hard to get the years-old arrow head out of the wood specifically. Hanzo and McCree were stood just outside of the Overwatch dormitory doorway when he had given the gift to McCree.

He smiled, again, for the first time since their first conversation, and McCree’s heart skipped a beat.

“Here. This can be yours now.”

“But why are you giving it to me?” McCree asks in a sentimental surprise, as Hanzo, for the first time in his life, looks a little bashfully away from him.

“Because I want you to have it. Should I need any other reason?”

 

Today, McCree is sat in his room, and Pharah has made her way back to her own room in the Overwatch base. She dabs at her brow with a towel, keeping a sly eye out for Mercy, just in case; whilst McCree is moping, thinking about how he wants to see Hanzo, and wears the arrow head around his neck like a precious jewel underneath his shawl. He lights up a cigar, crossing one leg across the other, and Pharah, meanwhile, is changing into her civilian clothes.

But before they both know it, the sticky, electrical static of Athena crackles up across the ship-wide speakers, and announces a departure about to happen.

“To all agents of Overwatch,” the electrical voice of Athena comes across the telecom. “We are re-stationing to Route 66. Please proceed to the docking bay for briefing, and we will begin departure in two hours. If you are following in an independent craft, please land appropriately.”

The two do as they are told.

Both know why their feet are moving of their own accord, and it is not that Athena asked them to do it, or that Overwatch is reformed, or even their morals. Both of them knew that their beloved would be there. That was why they moved.

Naturally, as expected, they do see them. And they see each other, for the first time in a little while.

Pharah smiles at McCree, and McCree smiles back. He waves from across the room, and Pharah waves back; Mercy peering curiously over Pharah’s tall shoulder, and brightly smiling at McCree as she greets him too, and he greets her in return. Hanzo stands next to McCree, slightly judgemental and looking as moody as ever, as he looks at the women waving at McCree, and deciding to completely ignore them in return. Pharah laughs, and McCree can’t help but smirk at this man that he’s crushing on so bad.

The briefing finishes, and McCree lingers back a little, before boarding the ship. Pharah sees him again, as she walks along with Mercy, and he greets both of them.

“Howdy, pardner.” He says with a smile, and Pharah laughs.

“Jesse. Is everything okay?”

Mercy can tell that McCree wants to talk to Pharah in private, and excuses herself with a smile. Pharah looks on at her walking with such a deep-set affection that if McCree hadn’t noticed it before, he certainly did just then.

“Can we talk later, Fareeha?” He asks, taking off his hat, and running a hand through his hair as he places it to his chest. “I, uh…got some things on my mind that we _might_ be in the same boat about.”

Pharah pauses for thought for a moment, before she sees Hanzo stood at the edge of the ship, arms folded, and keeping a very close eye on McCree. He notices Pharah, and looks as though someone shocks the base of his spine with how quickly he stands up straight, walking off suspiciously speedily; and Pharah smirks at the sheepish cowboy before her.

“Is that so!” she exclaims, and McCree laughs.

“Oh, come on, now. No teasin’. I’ve seen how you look at the good doctor, you know.”

Pharah closes her eyes briefly, realizing she has been caught out. McCree laughs, and Pharah lets out a resigned sigh.

“…You’re right about this damn boat for two, aren’t you?”

“I sure am. I think we need to mosey around ‘fore telling Ana about it. All right?”

The two agree to meet that night to talk. About exactly _what_ , neither is quite sure, but they are also confident in the subject matter at the same time. The two know full well that the other knows, hell, that they are both in the _exact_ same situation, not just from the previous exchange, but from the way that McCree could see Pharah’s breath hitch when she talked to Mercy, and the way Pharah could tell McCree’s eyes were slightly lidded from his thoughts of Hanzo before him.

The two knew, they knew so well, and yet, they felt so nervous to tell Ana about their feelings for their respective and potential lovers.

They both make their way to McCree’s favourite spot on Route 66, after the ship lands. A small, unseen spot behind a large sign of an unused gas station; sat beneath a blurred, pastel haze of a pink and orange sky, with a sun bleeding into the distance as it set. Discarded, half-smoked cigars lay strewn against the rooftops, and old, brown beer bottles clinked against each other on the floor, rolling idly against the cliff’s face.

McCree felt the chill of the winds, even out here in this gods forsaken canyon; and he could hear from behind that Pharah wore her Raptora Suit, if only just for protocol’s sake.

Pharah’s jets cooled. The blue hue of her metals glinted off the gentle glare of sunset, and McCree’s shadow hung back against him, as he looked out across at the train that he had wrecked so long ago now; still hovering up on an abandoned track that nobody had bothered to fix.

He laughed to himself, cigar between his lips as usual, and stroking his stubbled chin, thinking how he needed to shave again. Pharah walked up behind him, and he had heard her approaching, before the two paused, and smiled; standing up and, and after a brief greeting, sharing an uncharacteristic hug between them. Of what, neither was quite sure, but both felt it was necessary. McCree patted Pharah on the back twice, and she squeezed his shoulder.

They exchanged pleasantries, and before long, they had sat. Pharah’s helmet was off, and so was his hat, placed either side of them respectively as they sat with legs dangling off of the roof, bathing in the sunset of the day. The wind felt nice, just as it had this morning, thought Pharah; leaning back and tilting her head up, with her gorgeous, dark skin soaking up the rays of dusk. McCree sparked up another cigar, chainsmoking even before they had begun their conversation, as Pharah knocked her ankles off of the edge of the rooftop.

She chuckled to herself, and McCree made a noise of curiosity.

“So…” She began, with a smirk. “Hanzo Shimada, huh?”

McCree choked a little on his smoke as Pharah laughed, and exhaled shakily from the coughing, laughing himself.

He smiled.

“Yeah, I know. Unexpected as hell, lemme tell ya. Didn’t even know he was in Overwatch.”

“I figured as much.” Pharah replied, boldly pulling out a cigar from McCree’s discarded packet next to him. “You would be good together. Similar backgrounds, right?”

“Like you and Angela, huh?”

Pharah paused for a moment, sparking up the cigar, and then laughed.

“Yeah.” she replied, with a contemplative smile, and looking down at her armour-clad legs. “Like me and Angela.”

“And how’s that goin’ for ya?”

“Good. I think.” Pharah states, with a dreamy smile. “She makes me happy. Happier than I’ve ever been.”

“Well, that’s what matters most.”

McCree lays down against his hands on the rooftop, as Pharah looks out over the setting sun.

“What a mess.” she mumbles, but she mumbles with a smile. McCree chuckles as he exhales smoke.

“We sure have done it this time.”

“Do you think we should tell them first…?” Pharah replies, before trailing off slightly at the end, hesitant to realize what she had just suggested. “You know…before we go to Ana.”

“…Maybe.”

There is a pause between them. But it’s not an awkward pause. It’s a collective pause; of the thoughts of their loved ones, the thoughts of all the times they’ve both lay awake at night, thinking of Mercy and Hanzo respectively, lustfully, and of course, lovingly.

Perhaps the time was now.

McCree laughs. Pharah looks at him, surprised, and he puts his hat over his face after flicking his finished cigar over the roof’s edge.

“I’m mighty scared, Fareeha. Mighty scared.”

“Why are you scared?”

“You know best why.” McCree replies, and then laughs again, but this time, it is a nervous laugh. Pharah feels the emotional rock in the pit of her stomach from knowing exactly what he is about to say, and she knows full well she already feels the same way about Mercy.

They both pause. McCree finally breaks.

“If anything happens to him…if I went through all of this, and lost him…” He finally manages to admit, and Pharah lets out a sigh of relief at hearing him say the way that she too feels.

“…I know.” Pharah states, and looks over the canyon’s sunset. “But we can’t keep running from our feelings for them, can we? Ana would tell us much the same.”

“You’re right…but it’s damn hard to admit somethin’ like this. I know it must be for you, too. Angela’s a medic, and all…”

Pharah feels almost a pinprick of reality behind her eyes of tears rushing to the surface, and looks away from McCree in an effort to save face.

She takes a breather, before mustering up the courage to finally admit the heavy weight on her mind.

“…I worry so much for her safety it makes me sick.”

“You shouldn’t, Fareeha. You’re the best thing outta Overwatch for her. I’ve seen how you protect her.”

“But what if one day I can’t?”

“That day ain’t gonna happen,” McCree replies with an unshakeable certainty, and sparks up another cigar. “Because you love the girl. Ain’t that right?”

Pharah nods firmly.

“Yes. I need to have more faith in her ability to protect herself, too. She’s made it this far. And you should feel the same way about Hanzo, too.”

McCree nods, squinting a little from the sunlight hitting his eyes, and places his hat back up on his head.

“You’re right.”

“Do you love him?”

“Yeah,” McCree replies, almost instantly, and chuckles to himself as he takes a drag of his cigar. “Boy howdy, I love the man. How could I not?”

Pharah smiles warmly, and places her hand on McCree’s, seeing him emotional for the first time since they were kids.

“I’m really happy for you, Jesse.”

“Thank ya.” He mumbles, and pats Pharah’s armor-clad hand. “And I know you love Angela more than you love anythin’ in the world, don’t ya?”

“I do.”

“Then we should tell ‘em, tomorrow. Let’s just bite the damn bullet, Fareeha. Life’s too damn short as it is.” 


	2. Chapter 2

 

The conversation ends. Pharah has a nightmare that night, and McCree always has nightmares.

Pharah changes out of her Raptora suit before emerging, and Mercy greets her when she returns. Pharah can tell she has been waiting in the nearby café, because she has a slight brush of latte cream at the edge of her lips, and she’s dusting off her hands on her white doctor’s jacket. Pharah laughs with adoration softly, tapping the edges of her curved smile as she approaches Mercy, and Mercy pauses briefly, before realizing what she meant, and brushing it away with her fingertip bashfully. But she’s still as bright, brilliant, smiling as always. She slips an arm through Pharah’s own, asking how it went, what did her and Jesse talk about, and so on. Pharah returns the smile, replying vaguely, but not bluntly, and allowing her gaze to fall into Mercy’s ocean eyes; before their walking comes to a brief halt. 

She places her hands on Angela’s waist, and Mercy instinctively places her hands on Pharah’s shoulders.

It’s the first time Pharah’s _seen_ Mercy actually blushing a little in her presence, and she almost can’t contain herself from letting out the truth then and there. But she waits.

Pharah bites her tongue. Literally. And after, asks if they can talk tomorrow, at their usual spot in Anubis. Mercy blinks twice, softly, and at the same time, realizing the closeness of the two of them, before making a noise of “oh!” and laughing, nodding as she does.

Mercy doesn’t question the reason for, and Pharah is glad.

Pharah smiles, warmed, and offers to walk Mercy back to her room; their hands slipping into lock with one another, fingers intertwined, unquestioned, and unexpected. Pharah is glad she changed out of her armour so she can feel the grip of Mercy’s hand ever more than she could with it on, but this was fine. She didn’t care, as long as she had Mercy to hold in some way tonight.

The walk back to the room is short, but deliberately made long by the two of them this time. Mercy is smiling, so sunnily that it is something along the lines of a gentle sun; radiance coming off of her in waves, and such a pure, obvious, unwavering devotion to Pharah’s happiness that it makes her feel a little giddy.

“Did you wait for me tonight, Angela?” Pharah finally asks, but it’s more blurted out than anything. Mercy isn’t taken aback.

“Yes, I did. I was worried, you know?”

“Worried?”

“In case…well, it doesn’t matter now.” she begins, before trailing off. “Nothing happened to you.”

“Nothing will ever happen to me.” Pharah replies confidently, thinking back on McCree’s remark of why she would always be fine, and Mercy looks up at her.

“Oh? How is that?” she asks with a curious blink, and Pharah’s gaze softens.

“Because I have you to protect.”

They eventually reach Mercy’s door. Pharah feels like a giddy schoolgirl, and Mercy is desperately trying to hide the fact that she wants to blurt out things of her own accord. The two finish the day, hesitant, by bidding each other a lingering goodnight on both of their parts, and Pharah - forcing herself to turn away as Mercy hesitantly closes her door - feels the sensation of tingling lips, longing for a kiss more than ever.

She sighs a little to herself, a sigh that calms the nerves in her stomach. She walks away for tonight, resolved, knowing that the time is now. She has to tell Mercy. She just has to.

She wonders how McCree faired tonight.

McCree is much the same as Pharah, but less confident, for the first time in his life. He has no real reason to be, given that while Hanzo is less openly affectionate than Mercy, his actions in the past have shown how highly he values the cowboy. He, too, is greeted by Hanzo when he returns, as though he had been waiting at the door, much to McCree’s obvious amusement. It doesn’t take long for Hanzo to pout.

“Where have you been?” Hanzo barks, almost unintentionally, and McCree smirks.

“Were you worried?”

“No. You can take care of yourself.”

“Why, thank ya.”

McCree tips his hat at a slightly red in the face Hanzo, before he chuckles, and Hanzo walks alongside him. Hanzo quickly comments about how he might have been a _little_ concerned, as it _was_ getting a bit late, and it was uncharacteristic of McCree to disappear these days without telling him. McCree opted not to tease Hanzo this time; thinking back to the gravity of his conversation with Fareeha, and feeling the deepest sensation in his stomach of terror; before he too, turns to his loved one, and places a hand on his shoulder.

He asks him if they can talk, an unfamiliar seriousness in his voice that Hanzo does not recognize immediately, and pauses briefly. Hanzo is too used to the familiarity of this scene, however, from all of the times Genji and his father have said this; and puts a hand on McCree’s for the first time.

McCree is hit with a powerful longing. His hand is warm. McCree places a hand on top of Hanzo’s, too, almost in reassurance that it’s nothing bad, not like his family. He knows him well enough to recognize his thoughts at this point.

Hanzo’s anguish on his face fades, and nods.

“We can.” He states, calmly, and almost quietly. A flicker of a smile tugs at the edges of his lips, and McCree smiles back, warmed. They agree to meet outside Hanamura’s bell the next day.

The morning breaks. The birds outside chirping have never sounded so ominous.

Pharah steels herself. She barely got any sleep the night before, having nightmares from the anxiety of finally coming clean; and McCree, again, is much the same. Pharah goes out for her run, thinking on the ways she wants to tell Mercy whilst basking in the morning light; whilst McCree sparks up his first cigar of the day, puffing away slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose by drawing his thumb and middle finger across his tired eyes.

Pharah’s lungs feel fit to burst. She cannot stop thinking of Angela as her boots hit the concrete. The morning’s low risen sun doesn’t bother her eyes today. The eye of Horus turns a blind one.

Time passes. They prepare. Pharah and Jesse both send the same message to each other through the telecom.

“Good luck.”

 

McCree first meets with Hanzo before Pharah can talk to Mercy.

It’s eleven in the morning. The weather at Hanamura never changes. This much Jesse committed to memory; through spring, summer, autumn or winter, cherry blossoms seem to bloom there all year round. It is well-kept, with the vibrant reds and charming brown hues of the painted, wooden beams always eyecatching, and the gigantic bell is forever polished. McCree admires the patterns of the metalwork for a while, waiting for Hanzo; he is always a little late, thought McCree, and somehow even finds that to be endearing. A trait he has never found in another person to be such before.

He paces. The time is dragging. Hanzo is not late, just yet, but McCree feels like each second is an hour. What did he do if this didn’t go well?

“You’re early.”

He restrains a noise of surprise at the familiar voice behind him, smiling as he turns around. McCree chuckles, and extends his arms.

“What can I say? I never like to keep a man waitin’.”

“I’ve noticed,” Hanzo replies with a smirk, and folds his arms like usual. “Thank you for not smoking in here.”

“I know better than to do that, Hanzo.”

Hanzo’s eyes flicker with some kind of emotion; happiness, McCree thinks, and feels his heart warm again. But it’s always flickers. Always maybe, always sometimes. Always flickers of emotion. He’s so guarded, so obtuse and moody that sometimes, McCree feels as though he’ll never get a read on him. But he knows that Hanzo knows McCree knows him better than anyone.

“Hanzo, darlin’…” McCree begins, and slips his hands in his pockets, looking down at the temple’s floor a little. “I need to talk to you about somethin’.”

Hanzo doesn’t reply. He notices being called darling by McCree, and he bites his tongue in anticipation, coming to a slow realization of something that might happen. The cherry blossoms outside blow gently in the breeze; tiny petals falling onto the floor silently of the bell’s temple.

There was so much McCree wanted to say, and yet, he couldn’t find the words. He felt himself getting more and more furious at himself, feeling the sounds of the words stick in his throat like a lump; Hanzo’s expression changes from alert to sympathetic, and McCree takes a steadying breath.

“I really…” McCree began again, before feeling himself jar, and shook his head, slapping his hands on both of his arms as he crossed them. “Over the time we’ve spent together, I…”

He pauses, before looking up at Hanzo’s dark gaze. In a way, McCree thinks, it’s easier to tell him looking at him right in the eyes. He doesn’t hide anything from me when he looks at me.

“I’ve really…fallen for ya, Hanzo.” he finally states, a smile tugging at his lips. “You’ve charmed me clean outta my senses.”

Hanzo’s eyes grow wide, and McCree smiles resignedly.

“Me…?”

“I love you. Alright?” McCree states plainly, and relaxes a little. That was his goal for today. Not even necessarily making Hanzo his own; but making sure that he knew. That Hanzo knew, from the simple statement of three words, that McCree would do anything for him. His eyes close briefly, only for a moment, but a newfound freedom washes over him; no matter what happens now, it’s out in the open. Hanzo knows how he feels. He put it plain as day.

“I really, really love ya. I don’t know how you did it, but you got me. Right here.”

McCree taps at his chest twice, and Hanzo looks at him, a little dumbstruck. Hanzo is struggling to reply, but not necessarily in a bad way; but McCree isn’t a mind reader, and scoffs at himself.

“I just wanted to tell you. This was a stupid ass idea, so I’m goin’ back now. But at least you know.”

“Wait.”

Hanzo walks over to McCree briskly, at that moment.

He isn’t unphased. He is touched.

“Thank you,” he says, and pulls McCree into his arms suddenly. “Thank you for telling me.”

McCree holds Hanzo tightly, his stubble brushing slightly against Hanzo’s exposed shoulder; and, unlike the hug he shared with Pharah yesterday, he holds Hanzo tight, with arms unmoving.

“I believe I have fallen for you, too.” Hanzo states, and McCree feels him tense up a little. Hanzo wasn’t expecting something good to come of this, he realizes, and McCree feels a little sheepish for immediately jumping to the defensive. “It is hard…to state such feelings, when…”

“When you ain’t used to affection?”

“…Perhaps.”

They linger in their embrace for a moment. It is an embrace that is so affectionate, so intimate, that neither quite want to break out of it. Hanzo’s arms are strong, and McCree can feel the muscles of his biceps pressing into his sides, gently, and Hanzo’s nose presses into the crook of McCree’s neck, exhaling warm into his shawl.

McCree wraps his arms around Hanzo’s waist, and leans back a little into the embrace.

McCree notices the most that he is only a little taller than Hanzo, in that moment. He notices the bits of salt and pepper in Hanzo’s sideburns, flicking out just above his ears. He smiles with a warm affection, and Hanzo’s eyes scan him frantically, trying to work out what he is thinking.

“You’ve really fallen for me too, huh?” He asks, trying to sound nonchalant, but he isn’t quite sure why. Hanzo chuckles, deep and throaty and with a vibration from his chest against McCree’s skin.

“Yes. Is that acceptable?”

“ _Acceptable_ …” McCree laughs in disbelief, and places his hands on Hanzo’s shoulders, who is now smiling with a relieved expression that McCree has never seen before. “I think acceptable is a bit lenient, but I’ll take it.”

Hanzo grins, and McCree returns the favour. He wants so badly to kiss Hanzo, so much so that his lips tingle with the anticipation. Hanzo catches him staring at his lips, being in such close proximity, and he clears his throat quietly.

“Um…do you want to…”

“Huh?”

Hanzo pauses, and bites his lip a little, before quickly bringing his lips to McCree’s and kissing against him.

It is a rushed kiss at first, and a little clumsy and harsh; Hanzo and McCree both taken aback by the sudden force of such an action; but they find their rhythm, with McCree’s hand on Hanzo’s face, and Hanzo’s cupping Jesse’s, and the brash, harsh kisses turn into gentle ones, ones that express every word left unsaid, and any words that were to come afterwards.

McCree had gotten him. Under his skin, in his arms; in every way, he had gotten Hanzo Shimada as his own.

 

Pharah and Mercy arrive at Anubis together, as usual.

The sun is especially warm today. Not quite _hot_ , but warm. Comfortable, Pharah thinks, as it reminds her of happy memories spent in the sands, now with both Ana and Mercy. The golden sands are baked with rays of the looming sun, hung perfect in a clear blue sky. Pharah can feel it rising up to lick at her cheeks gently, whilst Mercy is _already_ sweltering, especially in full Valkyrie gear. The pure whites of her suit reflects the light back off of it, positively making sure that she is glowing; and Pharah thinks how accurate that is.

They step off of one ship, only to be approaching the exposed surface of another. The Temple grounds were always usually relatively empty these days – many merchants had been scared off by potential Talon sightings – and Pharah turns to Mercy, arm outstretched, and Mercy smiles back with a cheeky grin.

“Ready?” Pharah asks with a knowing, happy smile, and Mercy nods with an equally as bright one. She wraps an arm around Pharah’s waist tight, cuddling herself up in a comfortable position, and chuckles against the cusp of Pharah’s helmet. Pharah feels herself melt a little.

“I am,” Mercy states, and Pharah jets upwards, as usual, towards the small, out of the way ship, just tucked away nicely in the corner of the temple square’s front. Their small tent was already propped up from the day before, still shading a nice amount of the surface, and Mercy holds on. Pharah’s strong arms always hold Mercy with ease.

The two never comment about how Pharah could jet up first and allow Mercy to use her suit to fly up afterward. This is the much preferred method, after all.

Pharah places Mercy down gently on her golden heels, and her jets cool off behind her with the comforting sound of jet propulsion simmering down. Mercy smiles up at Pharah, who in turn slips off her helmet, shakes her golden braids free of their previous constraints, and watches as Mercy walks to their poor excuse of a familiar tent, pulling out their usual supplies and placing them down.

“I could only manage to make one Thermos last night, you know.” Mercy states, with a faux indignant tone that makes Pharah chuckle.

“Oh, really? Why’s that?”

“Because I was thinking about how you asked me to come out here today. To talk.”

Mercy turns around. Pharah can see that she’s smiling, but she can see that she’s anxious. She wants to know what Pharah has to say, and Pharah takes a deep breath. Mercy looks at her, a piercing gaze of determination.

“Pharah…” she begins. “Fareeha, please. Why did you want to talk to me here?”

“Angela…I…”

Pharah stops.

Time feels as if it comes to a halt; the gentle breeze of the desert cooling her face, comforting her, like a second mother, and nudging at her to speak with gentle touches. This is it, Pharah thinks. This is the moment that your life will change forever. One way or another, Pharah knows that this is the end of some kind of relationship, and the beginning of a new one. She knows. And she is terrified.

“…I have to be honest with you about something, and…” she trails off, and clears her throat. “If you don’t feel the same way I do, then that’s something I’ll learn to deal with. I promise you, I will. But I can’t pretend that I don’t feel the way that I do any more.”

“What do you mean?” Mercy replies, her eyes wider than Pharah’s ever seen them, and an eager anticipating tone in her voice.

Pharah listens, her ears razor sharp for unfamiliar sounds always, and she can tell Mercy isn’t saying that in a hesitant way, or any kind of negative way.

She digresses.

“Angela…” Pharah begins, savouring the sound of her name in her mouth. “Oh, Angela. After all the time we spend together, and all of the closeness, the affection, the mutual trust…the way we design around one another’s needs, our history, the moments between us…god, I am labouring the point, but what I really want to say…”

Pharah takes one final deep breath, and Mercy already knows whats coming, but doesn’t dare to hope.

“What I want to say to you…” Pharah states, and places her hands on Mercy’s warm shoulders.

“I love you, Angela Ziegler. I love you, truly, with all of my heart.”

Mercy is speechless for a moment, and Pharah, in that moment, feels almost every part of her body shutting down. Her mouth is dry, her head is spinning, and the fatigue from the nightmare-plagued night hits her like a truck. She feels the release of freedom, the joy of finally having shared the weightiest of feelings in the world, but, much like McCree, she also feels the horrific sense of dread.

“…I just had to tell you,” she finishes, squeezing Mercy’s shoulders.

“I love you, too.”

Mercy states it loudly, and then places her hands on her mouth after; she looks shocked at how fast the response came, and also how boldly she stated it; Pharah doesn’t know what to do with herself beneath the hot sun, listening to Mercy, the woman she has _longed_ for, for so long, finally tell her much the same.

She _does_ love her back.

“Angela…”

“Fareeha…how could I not be head over heels in love with you? What’s not to love?” She replies, with a cheeky smile, and clearly feeling rather embarrassed by her honesty. “There’s a lot that I want to say to you, too, but -”

“But…?” Pharah asks, trying to mask her anticipation, and failing from the adrenaline rush coursing through her veins. Her heart is beating out of her chest, and her arms feel shakier than after any kind of rocket blast to them. Mercy is blushing, harder than Pharah’s ever seen, and she laughs, before looking upwards towards the sky at nothing, and placing her hands on her face.

“I want to kiss you instead!” she blurts out, and laughs into her hands. “Oh, my goodness. I’m as giddy as a schoolgirl, aren’t I?”

Pharah doesn’t waste any time.

It is almost as though someone shot a flare up into the sky, signalling the time to act as now, and she gently grabs Mercy’s wrists, so gently as to not make her overwhelmed, or pressured, or anything of the sort, and kisses Mercy’s lips the way she has longed to for the last however many months it had been.

Mercy makes a noise of surprise, as she so often did when there was an unexpected action from Pharah, before she melts; her wrists were tensed a little, and now, they were totally limp in her arms, slipping out of her blue gauntlets easily to wrap around her neck. Pharah and Mercy could both feel that the chemistry between them was electric, unchanging, unstopping, and completely necessary for the two of them.

Pharah cursed having gauntlets on while she wrapped her arms around Mercy, and Mercy placed her hands on Pharah’s shoulders, kissing her with all of the affection she could muster up. The tip of her tongue touched Pharah’s lips as they kissed, which drove Pharah all the more insane, and wanting even more than just kisses; but she knew to hold back a little.

They kissed, for hours, in the heat of Anubis. No words came after that. They lay down in the shade of their tent, up and out of the way of prying eyes once more. _I knew this place would be even better used for this kind of thing_ , Pharah thought, in between their kisses; and during the moments, the wordless, breathless moments, where Mercy would look up at Pharah, she thought about how she was falling more and more in love with each and every look.

 

The day had been a resounding success for everyone involved.

McCree and Hanzo were beginning the next part of their lives together; exploring their chemistry, what made each other tick, and other exciting, new things about each other that they had wanted to find out about for so long. McCree felt a warm feeling in his chest unlike any he had ever experienced; as did Hanzo, which was saying quite a lot, given his usual emotional reservation. Pharah and Mercy had to tear themselves away from each other, noting that they had arrived at the peak of the midday sun, which was now a burning, golden orange sunset. Pharah felt utterly overwhelmed in the best sense, and Mercy felt completely overcome with emotion and desire; two things she always experienced around Pharah, but certainly in abundance after the day’s events.

Mercy felt her lips ache, and Pharah laughed, remarking that she was the same. The two chuckled.

The two couples were at different points in their relationships already; Pharah and Mercy had the longstanding, loved up history, whilst McCree and Hanzo held the new excitement of a budding romance.

Both Pharah and McCree let the other know how everything had gone; the tension, the confessions, the build up – all in brief form, naturally – and both were ecstatic for the other.

They smiled at one another, once again, after the dust had settled.

They knew that they wanted to tell Ana Amari about all of this, for definite. No emotion was wasted. All of the things they had been through, the falling in love, and the people in question. Neither was quite sure how she would react – not from the notion of same sex relationships, which was an entirely outdated viewpoint - but simply from the fact that the people she viewed as her children, biological or otherwise, were truly growing up.

And for Pharah and McCree, as they visited her in her hospital bed, Ana beamed with pride; and felt herself show an emotional, maternal side even moreso than usual, utterly touched that she had managed to help two wonderful people grow up to make others as happy as someone once made her, too.


End file.
